To Both Of Us
I seem to be a signed up tuition paid student in the Illustrator class on Saturday. I'll find out when I arrive how hard and fast their rule is about taking a Macintosh proficiency test before they allow you to begin. Maybe they'll make me watch over my partner's shoulder (two people to a Mac). Naturally I'll bring a camera, but I won't shoot any pictures inside without the teacher's permission, unless, of course, it looks like I can cop a shot without being caught. One must remain ready.
These are graphics students, right? Serious practitioners. Perhaps they understand photographs,
although I doubt it, this being the entry level first rung on the ladder introductory class and they don't really become sophisticated graphic artists with the practiced eye for another three months when they turn into sophomores. I, obviously, the only person in the entire world who understands photographs, am the authority, but I haven't been talking because I'm holding out for a Kodak Board of Directors seat (free Brownie camera, the good one with the f 4.5 lens, and all the film I can shoot) before I spill the secret. I'll do it here, of course, when I finally do, on line with little flashing Kodak banners popping like firecrackers. I'd consider a deal with Fuji, but I'm a stodgy old fart and I've grown accustomed to film that comes in little black and yellow boxes. (You think it's hard reading this stuff, you should try writing it.)
I checked my email just now and a reader of this journal has decided to move on and become an ex-reader for a number of reasons, one of them, though, was "... the depressive nature of the journal...." 'Old Farts' don't have to whine and hide and remember when and complain...and then do it all over again." "My friend, you have been isolated for too long. Hope you decide to become something more than the Lone Old Fart. You owe yourself that much. Best of luck, buy the damned jeep, and take care of Wuss..."
That's accurate. I haven't been too happy with the whining and the crying either. And I'm the guy who's doing it. I've been saying it's time to change. Over and over and over. I know how, but I don't know what. Everything? In the past I've simply pulled up stakes and split: copped out, crapped out, chickened out and cut out only to end up in the exact same fix I started with. My thought has been to hang on, moaning and groaning and crying maybe, but in, I was hoping, an ever clearer and more practiced hand. With pictures. I dunno. I suspect my reader has a made a decision to move on in some aspect of her own life, and is (appropriately and necessarily) leaving the company of those who haven't figured it out yet. That's what's supposed to happen, I think, when your life starts working. Good luck. To both of us.
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